His Judas
by DarthNuggz
Summary: I have always known that my husband is not a good man, but I loved him anyway. Even now I love him. Even as I attempted to slit his throat as he slept, I loved him. Even as he wrenched the knife out of my hand and plunged it into my chest, I loved him.


Cold.

There is no other suitable way to describe the feeling of your life slipping from you.

Despite the warm blood slowly covering my body, the cold continues to creep steadily through my bones.

My hands are covering the wound in a desperate attempt to slow the flow of blood, but I know it is useless. No one is coming to help me and no one will find me until I am long dead.

I know that I only have a few minutes left in this world.

With the bloody knife still in one hand and the other running through his grey-streaked, dark hair, my husband paces at the foot of our bed.

I have always known that my husband is not a good man, but I loved him anyway.

Even now I love him.

Even as I attempted to slit his throat as he slept, I loved him.

Even as he wrenched the knife out of my hand and plunged it into my chest, I loved him.

He sighs, rubbing his free hand over his face in frustration.

"After all these years, after everything we have accomplished together, I never thought you could do this to me." he says as looks down at the bloody knife in his hand.

To anyone else he would sound eerily calm, but I knew my husband well enough to detect the slight quake of anguish in his voice.

"Tom...please." I whimper, lifting one bloody hand to reach out to him, needing some sort of comfort in my final moments.

The action makes Tom stop pacing and look at me for the first time since the knife had entered my body. The moment his eyes met mine all of the anger in his expression gave way to pain and sadness. Our gazes hold for a few moments before he turns and places the knife on the dresser behind him.

He turns and makes his way over to the bed as he wipes his blood-covered hand on the front of his white undershirt.

My husband climbs onto the bed beside me and wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me down from my position against the headboard and pulling me against him so that my back is to his chest. I try to focus on his heart beating against me to distract myself from the pain overwhelming my body.

It only helps a little.

He buries his face in my bushy brown hair and lets out a shaky breath against the back of my neck, "You swore your loyalty to me when we first met, and now...you have betrayed me."

For a brief moment, beneath the disappointment and betrayal in his voice, I could detect a hint of sadness.

"I'm sorry." I whisper.

"Then explain why you did it, Hermione. We have a family, we have the world, what else is there that you want?" Tom asks, his voice desperate.

I let out a choked sob before speaking, "I love you, Tom, more than anything."

"Therefore you must kill me?" he asks, confused.

I briefly close my eyes in an attempt to hold back the tears, "Yes," I pause, "But I was going to kill myself as well. It appears I have half-succeeded." I say humorlessly.

"Why? Why kill me? Why kill yourself?" he asks, his voice growing frustrated.

"Tom," I start, "You have done terrible things, things no normal human being could ever live with."

Tom remained silent behind me, so I continued.

"But through it all, you've never felt any remorse. That is, until a few years ago."

I felt Tom's body become tense against me, "What are you talking about?" he asked quietly.

"You know what I'm talking about, Tom. I know you better than anyone, do you think that I haven't noticed the way your jaw tenses during the public executions? Or how you blink very rapidly when you hear the death counts of the attacks on the rebel camps? Face it, Tom, you have changed."

"What is your point?" he asks, his voice hoarse.

"One day the weight of all of your horrible actions will break you completely, you will not be able to live with yourself. I cannot bear to see you like that, Tom. I want to spare you that pain. But I cannot live without you either."

Tom pulls me tighter against his body, "What of Augustus?" he asks, his voice muffled against my neck, presumably to hide the emotion in his voice.

At the mention of our son I briefly close my eyes, letting out a shaky breath as I opened them again.

"He is a grown man and more than ready to take your place. He is also a better man than you, so he will not do horrible things and will not suffer as you will. But none of that matters now. I failed you. Just tell him that I love him." I say quietly as a single tear escapes my eye and rolls down my cheek.

Tom says nothing, but I can feel tears falling onto my shoulder.

"I am afraid that I am your Judas, my love." I say sadly, "If only I had the strength to give you one last kiss, as he gave to Christ."

Tom is silent, but his tears continue to fall.

My vision is fading and I know that I do not have long. I shakily lift my blood covered hand from the wound on my chest and reach behind me to grasp my husband's hand, squeezing it, silently reassuring him. After a moment, he squeezes back.

"I love you, Tom." I whisper.

Then, without a word, he gets up from the bed.

As the cold completely overtakes my body, I hear the sound of a blade pierce flesh, followed by a strangled grunt of pain.

As I close my eyes for the final time, I hear stumbling footsteps toward where I lay, and the thump of knees hitting the floor beside the bed.

As I let out my last breath, I feel the touch of wet lips against mine. Whether they were wet from blood or tears I do not know

Now, as my heart stops, I hear whispered words as a body thumps against the floor.

"I love you too."


End file.
